


Tangled in Images of Stars

by rileywrites



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asexual Chris Argent, Asexual Derek Hale, Camping, Cuddling & Snuggling, Derek Has Nightmares, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Everybody Lives, Light Angst, M/M, Mentions of Past Torture, Multi, OOC maybe, Polyamory, they deserve happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-10 22:05:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4409522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rileywrites/pseuds/rileywrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“...my dreams are tangled in images of stars and clouds and firelight - we go camping at night - it's my lucid dream of being with you...” </i> </p><p>― John Geddes, <i> A Familiar Rain</i></p><p>The one where they go camping- they deserve the vacation, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tangled in Images of Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Olsies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olsies/gifts).



> Betaed by the lovely Caroline, to whom I owe my sanity on this project.
> 
> Olsies, you asked for fluff, and fluff you will get.
> 
> Warning for brief, vague mention of past torture and related nightmares.

Derek wakes to birdsong, sunlight, and faint snores from the men lying in bed beside him. He kisses John's still-sleeping mouth and slides out of bed. Chris gets a kiss when Derek rounds the bed to close the curtains. He just snuffles and rolls over, seeking John's body heat instinctively.

It's been a long week. They deserve to sleep in.

Derek pulls on shorts and a tank top, toeing on his running shoes and grabbing his keys. If he times it right, he'll get home right as the others are waking.

The run gives him time to think, to plan out the last details of the upcoming camping trip. The pack is busy or away, John has the entire weekend off on penalty of a doctor-required sabbatical with Tara and Jordan at the helm, and Allison is handling the Argent side of things.

They shouldn't have a single interruption. Not if Derek can help it, at least.

...

When Derek gets back, both men are eating breakfast in their robes. John smells like satisfaction, and Chris smells like contentment.

"Have fun when I was out?" He asks, kissing Chris on his way to the coffee maker.

"John did," Chris says with a smirk. "I just watched... and gave a few directions."

John grins. "It's how we work best, I think. Did you enjoy your run?"

Derek nods over his coffee, downing it in two long gulps.

"I cut it in half today, since we'll be hiking later. Did the usual perimeter, checked on all the houses, and came back." He leans over to grab a piece of bacon from Chris’ plate, barely escaping a fork to the hand. “I’m amazed you’re awake. I was sure you’d sleep in later.”

“Sleeping in is difficult when we’re so used to our schedule,” Chris says, poking him in the hand when he tries to steal another piece of bacon. “Though I have nothing against a lazy morning in bed.”

John pulls him into his arms, rasping his stubble across Derek's neck. Derek smiles softly, leaning into the embrace and letting himself be scented. John’s scent spreads across his skin, and Derek’s smile grows.

"Everything quiet for now?" John asks, pressing random kisses to Derek's sweaty skin.

Chris just watches, steely eyes locked on them with a combination of love and amusement.

"Everything is quiet." Derek hums happily, melting into John's embrace. "Not a thing out of place."

"Good." John squeezes him harder. "We deserve the vacation."

Chris chuckles. "Damn straight. Now, to make sure the rest of the world agrees."

"If anything should come up, we ought to let Scott and Jordan handle it," Derek says. "They'll be fine, I know it."

Chris moves around the kitchen island so he can join John and Derek's embrace. He nuzzles Derek's chin before kissing him softly.

"Force of habit," he murmurs. "I tend to worry about everything."

John shifts to wrap his arms around both of them. "That's why you have us: to remind you not to worry so much. It's bad for your health."

"I want you both around forever," Derek adds, kissing Chris deeper this time. "I can't imagine life without my old men."

Chris pinches his ass, and John nips at his neck.

Totally worth it.

…

It’s almost noon when they pack the car, taking their sweet time as they get ready.

“Are we sure we have everything?” Derek asks for the sixth time.

Chris squeezes his shoulder. “We’re sure. And since all of us have roughed it before, I think forgetting a bedroll or something won’t be the end of the world.”

John tightens his grip on Derek's hand. “Breathe, Der. This is supposed to be a break.”

A break. Right.

...

They reach the usual spot in record time, and Derek sets to cleaning the brush away from their little clearing. John unpacks the tent and gets it set up, building their nest on flat, clear ground. Chris is in charge of the fire and the food-- keeping the one away from Derek, and the other away from the bears. Derek collects a good bundle of dry wood for Chris's fire as soon as the brush is cleared.

"That's my chores done," he says with a happy sigh. "I guess that means I'm the first one in the lake."

John hands him empty jugs. "Fill these while you're out there, please."

Derek strips down to the skin and takes the jugs, not bothering with any pretense. He looks good, and his men like looking at him. It's a nice feeling.

He sets the jugs on the edge of the lake, steps back, and takes a running leap into the water. It's refreshing after the long hike, washing away sweat and worries all at once.

Chris whistles approvingly when Derek surfaces to fill the jugs.

"You should come in with me," Derek calls. He sets the jugs on the bank so John can add the purifying agent. "The water feels great."

"I'm too old for that nonsense," Chris argues. "I'll leave it to you."

"You're boring, old man. Come swim with me!" Derek brings his toes up to float on his back. “You know you want to. It’s so hot out there, and the water is amazing.”

John strips down, and Derek whistles.

“See, John knows how to have fun.”

“John’s bones ache,” John retorts. “The cool water should stop my joints from swelling.”

Derek floats closer to the shore so he can see Chris better.

“If John isn’t too old, you certainly aren’t. He’s the olde—“ Derek yelps as John pinches his thigh.

“I may be the oldest, but I’m still the hottest,” John reminds him. “And I can out-swim you any day."

Derek takes the challenge for what it is and goes shooting across the lake, John at his heels. When he surfaces to breathe, he can hear Chris whooping from the bank. It’s nice to test his powers outside of training or fighting, where he can just goof off with the men he loves.

…

John and Derek swim until they’re exhausted, the sun coming down as they dry off and pull their clothes back on. Chris already has dinner started: hotdogs on skewers and corn roasting in tin foil pouches near the embers.

“We don’t deserve you,” John says, leaning over to kiss Chris properly. “Thank you for making dinner.”

“Since camp food is the only version I seem to be able to manage, I figured it would be for the best.” Chris bats him away. “I need to focus. Go kiss Derek.”

“Derek is reading,” Derek counters, without looking up from his book. “Derek doesn’t need kisses right this minute.”

“I’ll kiss you later, when you do need kisses.” John pulls out his own book (some John Grisham nonsense) and settles in to read by the firelight.

Chris gets dinner ready and serves it with pride, happy to watch them tear into the food.

“Do we get s’mores?” Derek asks, looking for all the world like an excited teenager. “Did you pack things for s’mores?”

Chris pulls out a bag of marshmallows and several chocolate bars. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I forgot to pack the s’mores?”

“The worst kind,” John teases. “So it’s a good thing you didn’t.”

John toasts marshmallows for the three of them, careful to toast them to the perfect color.  

“I love s’mores,” Derek says after eight or nine of them, sprawling on the ground with his head in Chris’ lap. “Especially when John makes them. You never toast the marshmallows enough.”

“I know, that’s why John makes them.” Chris plays idly with Derek’s hair.  “You deserve to be this happy all the time."

“That’s also why we don’t let _you_ toast the marshmallows,” John teases, handing Derek another s’more. “Since you burn them and panic.”

“I don’t handle fire well,” Derek says around a mouthful of marshmallow. “But we knew that.”

Chris slides his hand down to squeeze Derek's neck, and John reaches over to pat his hand.

"That's why  _John_  toasts the marshmallows," Chris says again, softer this time."

...

The fire burns low, and they all spread out to gaze up at the stars. Chris points out constellation after constellation, and John tells them the stories he used to tell Stiles about them.

“… And so the noble swan was able to save the prince from certain doom, despite dying herself. The gods decided to immortalize her in the stars, so that she could keep an eye on her prince and watch him grow up from her place in the sky. Every night, when the swan was in the sky, the prince would go out into the garden and wave. And, if he looked closely enough… she waved back.”

Who needs the official story, when you have John’s voice rumbling quietly over personal stories he’s told a thousand times.

Derek tells his own stories, ones full of werewolf lore and explanations for things unseen.

“… The woman brought him his pelt back, for she knew now that her noble knight was as much a wolf as he was a man. He loved her even more for loving all of him, and he vowed to protect her — no matter the phase of the moon.”

Eventually, they run out of stories. Derek scoots closer so he can lay his head on John’s chest, and Chris mirrors the movement on his opposite side.

“I love camping,” John murmurs.

“I love you,” Derek says with a sleepy smile. “Both of you.”

“We love you too,” they say together, smiling warmly.

(They don’t move to get into the tent until the mosquitoes decide to use them as dinner. Even then, they’re reluctant to leave the stars.)

…

_Screams echo out through the warehouse, distorting his spatial reasoning. All he knows is John is hurt, his John is hurt, and someone is hurting him._

"Derek?"

_They took John to get to the pack. They took his John, and they’re hurting him, and Derek can’t find him._

“Derek, wake up.”

_The stench of blood and smoke fills his nose, and he can't find him. He can't save him if he can't find him. Why can't he find him?_

"Derek, wake up. It's just a dream."

_He keeps running, turning toward the screams only to find another dead end, John's pain emanating from another part of the building. He has to keep running; he has to find him; he has to--_

"Derek!" The owner of the voice shakes him. “Wake up!”

Derek wakes with a start, sitting up in a tangle of sleeping bags and panting heavily. John and Chris are both awake, though John was the one shaking him. Their tent feels both too small and too big for the pain and love curling through him.

"Sorry," he pants out. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"Don't apologize, Derek." Chris pushes sweaty hair off of his forehead and presses a kiss to his cheek. "We're here for you, no matter what."

John sorts out their blanket nest and draws Derek back against his chest.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks. He won't push, Derek knows from experience, but he also tends to fret if Derek doesn't talk. Then again, John is Stiles’father. Stiles’ worrying had to come from somewhere.

Derek waits for his breathing to settle, counting Chris' fingers as John rubs his shoulders and arms.

"It was the night you were taken again," he whispers. "The night we almost lost you, the night you almost… We were almost too late, there was so much blood."

Chris takes his hands. "You don't have to explain. We understand."

"I'm right here," John says firmly. He still bears the scars of the torture, still has trouble getting out of bed on rainy mornings from the wounds they gave him. "I'm safe with you, Derek. With Chris. I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere."

"I know," Derek says softly, pulling Chris closer so he's wrapped in warmth and love (and somewhat sweaty flannel, but it's worth it). "I know."

“I’m right here, and I love you. We’re safe, together. We’re okay.”

John keeps rubbing his arms, and Chris hums tunelessly against his neck. Eventually, exhaustion wins over fight-or-flight, and he settles down to sleep again.

He's safe here, tucked between the men he loves. They won't let anyone hurt him, and he won't let anyone hurt them. They’re okay.

(Sweaty and stuck together by flannel pajamas, but okay.)

…

Saturday morning brings a breakfast of fish and another swim in the lake. This time they manage to talk Chris into swimming with them, goofing off until they’re all water-wrinkled and exhausted.

“I love our weekends away,” Derek says, sprawled out on a beach towel to dry off and work on his tan. “It’s so peaceful up here.”

That’s when Chris’ radio crackles awake.

“Guys, I know you said not to bother you,” Scott says hesitantly. “But we have some sort of monster thing in the preserve right now, and none of us are sure what it is.”

The three of them exchange a look.

Chris turns off the radio.

(They’ll worry about the rest of the world when they get back into town. It’s their vacation, after all.)

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr [here.](rileyrises.tumblr.com)


End file.
